


Times Being What They Are (Dark, and Getting Darker All the Time)

by dyrimthespeaker



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/F, F/M, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-12-20 15:41:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11924022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyrimthespeaker/pseuds/dyrimthespeaker
Summary: In a kingdom on the brink of war, plagued by internal turmoil, a group of young men must navigate their lives amongst the chaos.





	1. The Ones Who Load the Dice Always Say the Toss Is Fair

**Author's Note:**

> I got emotional listening to “Drunken Whaler” from the Dishonored soundtrack and this entire fic happened because of that.
> 
> This isn’t a Dishonored au (though there is some inspiration taken in terms of setting and aesthetics in that this is some sort of “aesthetically/technologically late 1800s early 1900s fantasy royalty au”), but I do recommend listening to the song because it’s one of my favorite versions of “What Shall We Do With A Drunken Sailor” and I think it sets the tone for this fic.
> 
> I have a hell of a lot of lore worked up for this one and I’m sure I’ll touch on most of it at one point or another, but if you want to talk worldbuilding (or anything else tbh!) feel free to talk to me on my tumblr (dyrimthespeaker)
> 
> Thanks as always to my lovely gf for betaing!
> 
> Title from Anaïs Mitchell - “Wedding Song”
> 
> Chapter one title from Anaïs Mitchell - “If It’s True”

A young woman’s voice could be heard singing softly in the clear morning,

“Way hey and up she rises,  
Way hey and up she rises,  
Way hey and up she rises,  
Early in the morning”

Her voice faded into a hum that floated out on the breeze across the grounds immediately surrounding the palace.

“Stuff him in a sack and throw him over,” Joseph sang to himself under his breath, continuing the old sea shanty. He was making his way to his post for the day, near the gardens and under the balconies of the living quarters of the palace. It was from one of those balconies that the song had come, and Joseph suspected Princess Blanche had been the singer.

Though his station was still low, he had already made his way from the Guard to the Royal Guard and he had hopes of working his way up the ranks and perhaps one day even serving directly under Commander Lipton as one of the Sentinel. For now though, he was a low ranking royal guard who was tasked with perimeter duty more often than not.

He found his post for the day and greeted his fellow royal guard, Charles Grant, who had been on night duty.

Charles, like Joseph, had been born into poverty and fought his way to his position. They had a common understanding as two men who had known the hardships of the lower class and worked hard to gain everything they had in life. They could commiserate over their childhood struggles and understood each other's feelings on having achieved as much as they had.

“Hey Chuck, night go okay?”

“Yeah it did, boring as hell,” Charles said, stepping aside.

Joseph nodded and took his place. “I guess boring is better than eventful.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn't mind a bit of excitement now and again.” Charles took off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair. “Alright, I’m going home to sleep, I’ll see you on Friday for drinks at Guarnere’s?”

Joseph nodded. “Yeah, see you then.” He watched Charles walk off and set himself for long day of guarding. He checked the strap of his rifle over his shoulder and let his hand glance over the buttons on his coat to make sure they were all done. His helmet was settled on his head, his weapon was secure, and his shin guards were strapped on tight over his boots. He was every inch a model royal guard, armed and in uniform.

His current duty didn’t require much, mostly standing in place and pacing a small section of the grounds. He was glad he didn’t have to stay completely still or he’d likely fall asleep from boredom where he stood. The pacing helped keep him alert, even if it was only a short distance.

He scanned the area slowly and found nothing out of place. The gardens were silent, save for the soft rustle of the wind through leaves. No one else was in the area except the other royal guards he could see at their posts scattered through the grounds. The gardens themselves were too vast to see in their entirety from his position—they extended from the palace itself down to the docks at the edge of the royal estate—but everything he could see looked as it should.

He surveyed the area immediately surrounding him as he began his first round of the day. He walked along the path beside the palace, its large and imposing shape shielding him from the morning sun, before he turned and ventured a short ways into a section of cultivated flower beds and hedges. He walked at a steady pace, enjoying the tranquility of his surroundings. Ideally the morning would be uneventful and he wouldn’t have to deal with interacting with anyone until the afternoon, by which point he’d be feeling far more charitable about conversing. He completed his short loop and came back to stand at his station beside the palace.

The palace was a grand structure, ornamental in design over a foundation of strength. It housed the royal family as well as the elites of the court and all those necessary to keep it running, from the Sentinel down to the servants. It was the first building to be wired for electricity upon its discovery and held the finest of technological advances and luxuries. The street lamps of the city had since also been wired to the new electrical grid, but common folks still relied on oil lamps and candles for their lighting. The palace also contained a large garage for the storage and maintenance of the newly invented motorized vehicles, still only available to the nobility.

Joseph hoped he’d one day be permitted to ride in one, it was a technological wonder grander than steam trains in his opinion, but he knew it wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon. Unless he was able to convince someone with higher connections to help him.

In addition to living quarters, the palace contained a combination of practical and ceremonial rooms. The throne room, the council room, the Royal Apothecary’s chambers, the office of the Master of Messages, an armory, and, of particular interest to Joseph, a vast library for research and record keeping.

In that library, Joseph hoped to find one Lord David Webster later in the afternoon. David was a low ranking member of the nobility who had come to the palace to serve as a researcher. He could be found most days poring over old manuscripts, his hands smudged with ink and his hair mussed from running his fingers through it as he got lost in concentration. When he wasn’t in the library he was usually down by the docks watching the ocean, but Joseph hoped to find him in the library today. He’d prefer to spend his break indoors than out given that his duty that day required him to be outside.

As a child, Joseph never could have imagined he’d be so intimate with life in the palace. Or so intimate with one of its inhabitants. Perhaps he could’ve imagined a life with a servant, but a member of the nobility? Never. Not even one relatively low ranking as David. Even that was a station far above any Joseph had dared entertain.

He grew up in one of the slums of the city, one of a multitude of children born to parents who were poor, but loving. What he had lacked in material goods he had never lacked in support and he was grateful to his parents for doing their best for him and his siblings.

As a youth his anger at his family’s situation had come out in bitterness towards the crown and everything it symbolized. For the wealth of the royals and their shiny palace that overlooked their people who were poor and sick and destitute. He still held on to some of that anger, despite the fact that it was now his sworn duty to protect the inhabitants of the very palace he’d despised as a child.

Joining the Guard as a soldier had been one of the best opportunities afforded to him as an impoverished young man, but as he trained and served he came to love his brethren. He may have no love for the King, but he would defend his fellow guardsmen to the death. It was that love, as well as his admiration for great and honest men like Commander Lipton—head of the Sentinel and Royal Guard—that led him to seeking a position higher than that of a common guardsman.

And with that higher position came an increase in responsibilities, prestige, and more contact with inhabitants of the palace than ever. From servants, to David, to the Royal Advisors, to the royal family themselves. He rarely saw King Stanhope, but he saw Prince Lewis and Princess Blanche occasionally in passing.

The Nixons had been the royal line for as long as memory served, their rule long and prosperous. The golden age of the kingdom had flourished under multiple Nixon kings, most prominent in recent history being King Lewis I. He had ruled in the age of sail and their fleet had been the envy of the world. Under him the kingdom had prospered and been a leading power.

It still was a leading power, but things had taken a turn for the worse a few generations back and had only escalated over time. King Lewis II’s untimely death had left the kingdom in chaos. King Stanhope had ascended to the throne billing himself as the bringer of reinvigoration to a kingdom that had been on the decline. He invested heavily in technological advancement and proposed the creation of more industrial jobs to set the economy back to prosperity. While this had been appealing theoretically, the reality hadn't quite matched up to his boastful rhetoric.

A few decades ago had seen a horrible explosion at one of his favored factories. Many had died in the blast and the incident had only further embittered the people against him. Though a brilliant man in certain respects, he was blinded by greed and vice. His pride and anger guided him more as he aged and as his popularity turned. He insulated himself with a council of likeminded Royal Advisors and as his love of drink grew, so did his propensity to act as he pleased.

The death of his wife, Queen Doris, furthered the spiral. He cared only for himself and his closest Royal Advisors. He funneled resources to reward men who acted on his behalf and grew less and less concerned with the plight of his people. It was obvious he was corrupt, though as the King, none could outright question him. And those who might dare, such as his Regent—the person appointed to act as his right hand man—were just as corrupt and reaping the benefits of every bribe. While the common man suffered and found his situation worse and worse, the elite were getting richer.

But in the last few years tides had been turning. The Crown Prince Lewis’ coming of age had seemed to set things in motion. With it came new appointments to the Royal Advisors, including that of Richard Winters as Lord Commander. When Lord Commander Sink had died and the kingdom was in need of a successor to the position, everyone had assumed the new Lord Commander would be another of the old elites, but instead, they found themselves with Richard Winters.

This had signalled a change and had sparked hope with the common man. Richard Winters was no lofty lord, he came from a line of good honest common folk. He had done his duty as a soldier of the Guard and had proven his worth as a leader on the battlefield. From there he had risen in rank swiftly and now found himself Lord Commander, the overseer of the entire military and police force that comprised the Guard.

It was whispered that the Crown Prince had been instrumental in forcing the King’s hand in the appointment. For though none could deny Winters’ worthiness, his lineage was not up to the caliber that King Stanhope usually preferred for those he appointed to positions of power. Prince Lewis’ official joining of the council had seemed to change the nature of the Royal Advisor appointments. With him had come Lord Harry Welsh, a young lord whose bloodline made him an agreeable choice to the King, but whose youth and temperament aligned him more with the Crown Prince.

The most controversial appointment was that of Lord Ronald Speirs. His past was a mystery to all and whispers and rumors followed him like a shadow. He was a mercenary type of great intelligence, but little trust was placed in him by most given his lack of provable history. Among common people the rumors about his past varied from theories that he had killed the entire royal family of his land and had to flee, to him being a disgraced crown prince from far away, to him being the leader of a failed coup who fled before he could be punished.

Despite the rumors, it was agreed he was certainly a noble man and in possession of great talent. On the council he had a unique perspective and had made himself of great use to military minds like Lord Commander Winters and Commander Lipton. He tended to align himself with the Prince rather than the King, but his worth was such that the King hadn’t struck him from the Royal Advisors.

But still, despite the changes, King Stanhope held fast to his power and his ways. The dissatisfaction of the common people seemed to grow daily, and there was a general sense of unease surrounding the internal affairs of the kingdom. The tensions only seemed to mount as war loomed on the horizon and the threat of an uprising grew within the kingdom.

* * *

 

The moment his replacement guard arrived, Joseph removed his helmet and hurried into the palace. As he made his way to the library he ran a hand through his hair in hopes of making it look more attractive and less like it had been flattened by a helmet for hours. He didn’t spare any time to find a mirror and check, but he hoped he somewhat succeeded in the endeavor.

Once he reached the library he tucked his helmet under his arm and quietly walked up and down the long aisles of shelves searching for David. It was silent and still and the scent of books was heavy in the air. He wound his way back until he found David hunched over a pile of manuscripts, his brow furrowed and his mouth parted. He was so deep in concentration that Joseph was nearly upon him before he finally noticed he was no longer alone.

He gave a slight start and blinked at Joseph a few times before his expression relaxed and he smiled. “Off duty?”

Joseph grinned and nodded. “Yeah, you learn anything new today?”

David perked up at the question and started gesturing at something on a manuscript. “You see this? It’s the key to what I’ve been working on!”

Joseph looked at the paper, though he couldn’t understand exactly what information it contained to make it so fascinating. Still, he knew this was important to David so he nodded and made sure to try to look impressed as David began lecturing him about his findings.

As soon as David seemed to reach a pause Joseph leaned in and cocked an eyebrow. “You think you can bear to take a break from your precious documents?”

“Why, do you have something worthwhile for me to do instead?” David shot back.

Joseph fixed him with a cocky grin and set his helmet down on top of David’s work. “Yeah, I do.”

They stood suspended in a pause, each waiting for the other to cave first before they broke almost simultaneously and came together in a passionate kiss. Joseph tangled his hand in David’s curls as David clutched desperately at Joseph’s uniform coat, searching for purchase to hold him tight.

As they stumbled their way to the wall they knocked into the table and sent Joseph’s helmet and David’s pens scattering to the ground. They paid the crash no mind and focused on touching each other as much as they could while still clothed. It wasn’t until Joseph had David pressed up against the wall that they finally broke their kiss and looked at each other.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” David panted.

“No?”

David shook his head and rocked his hips forward. “We really shouldn’t.”

“I think you’re right,” Joseph replied, pinning David’s hands against the wall.

David moaned and hitched his leg up to try to get Joseph as close as possible and Joseph happily obliged, lining up their hips and starting a rhythm rocking against David. They came together in another kiss and muffled their moans into it as they ground their cocks together through their pants.

“Oh fuck, I need—” Joseph began before David cut him off with a biting kiss.

David pulled back and nodded. “Yeah.”

They parted just long enough to undo each other’s pants and pull their cocks out. They pressed close together again as they started stroking each other. Joseph made sure to twist his fist exactly the way David liked, determined to overwhelm him with pleasure and make him moan.

David saw the spark of challenge in Joseph’s eye and matched him stroke for stroke, equally as determined to use every trick he knew to make Joseph come first. They worked each other at a fever pace and muffled their moans in kisses. They bit at each other’s lips, then soothed the sting with presses of tongue. Joseph sucked on David’s neck as David nipped sharply at his ear.

As they grew closer to completion Joseph captured David’s lips in another kiss and they rode out their orgasms liplocked and groaning into each other’s mouths. As the last aftershocks left Joseph he drew back and searched for a cloth to wipe his hand with. He found none and chose to wipe his hand off on his coat as he’d already made a mess of it. As soon as his hand was clean he pulled his coat off and offered it to David who quickly wiped his hand as well.

David was flushed, his mouth parted and his clothed mussed. Joseph could see a small mark he’d left on David’s neck and grinned. He watched as David tried to straighten his clothes out and get himself into a presentable state again.

“You look good like that.”

David blushed harder and smoothed his hands over his clothes again. Joseph reached out and cupped his chin and kissed him again tenderly.

“I’ll see you later,” he said, letting his hand drop from David’s face.

David pressed a short peck to Joseph’s lips. “Okay.”

Joseph wadded up his coat and bent down to grab his helmet from where it had fallen on the floor. He gave David one last grin, then turned and made his way out of the library. He was glad he was off duty for the rest of the day given the mess on his coat. He knew he’d need to do laundry straight away to prevent a stain, but it had been worth it. The memory of David desperate and aroused under him brought a smile to his lips.

As he walked down the hall he caught sight of some of the Royal Advisors heading towards the council room for an evening meeting and quickly schooled his expression back to blankness. He nodded his head in acknowledgement as he passed them and strode quickly out of the palace. The moment he was out of their sight his grin returned to his face. He couldn’t wait until he saw David again.

* * *

 

After the council meeting ended and the Royal Advisors dispersed for the evening, Richard found himself in Lewis’ chambers. He was there often enough and late enough that the hour of their meeting raised no suspicion, though he knew there were rumors as to why they spent so much time together. One of the most popular was that he was trying to gain favor with the Crown Prince, though the basis for that he couldn’t quite fathom given he was already Lord Commander. What position could he possibly be angling to get? It would be difficult to elevate his station much higher than it already was.

He sat at a small side table, mulling over the maps and strategies from the council meeting and absently watching as Lewis shrugged off his jacket and poured himself a drink. He was so lost in thought that he missed Lewis making his way across the room and coming to stand directly before him.

“Come Lord Commander, indulge for once,” Lewis’ voice broke his concentration. He blinked and saw Lewis tipping his glass as if to offer it.

Richard raised his eyebrow slightly. “Is that an order, Your Highness?”

Lewis grinned and finished his drink, then set the glass on the table. “Are you denying your crown prince?”

“Have I ever denied you anything?”

Lewis put on a show of humming thoughtfully, “I seem to recall a time or two…” He trailed off and his smirk betrayed his tease, he knew full well that Richard was in the habit of indulging him at every opportunity. It was rare for Richard to truly deny him anything.

Lewis moved closer and nudged Richard’s legs apart. “Will you deny me this?” He dropped to his knees and ran his hands up Richard’s thighs.

Richard inhaled sharply. “Lew, the meeting—”

“Dick,” Lewis interrupted, “I’ve been in meetings all day. Please, I just need a moment to myself. I need to be able to focus on something other than the fate of the kingdom just once today.”

Richard nodded and parted his legs so Lewis could move closer. “If that's what you need…”

“It is,” Lewis said, undoing Richard’s pants and settling himself between his thighs. “Besides, you're stressed too, don't deny it.”

“I believe we established I’m not denying anything,” Richard replied, a hint of amusement teasing at the corner of his mouth.

Lewis stared at Richard for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Gods! Never let anyone tell you you aren't a master of wit.”

“That’s overstating it.”

Lewis shook his head. “No no, it's all in your timing. That combined with your understated delivery? Impeccable.”

Richard smiled down at him, pleased his joke had landed as intended, but stayed silent at the praise. He was never sure how to accept graciously, especially when it was praise he felt gave him more credit than he was due. But he knew Lewis meant it.

Lewis’ laughter died down and he moved to stroke his open palms down the insides of Richard’s thighs slowly. Richard spread his legs even further and settled back in the chair.

Lewis’ expression was lustful and hungered as he leaned in to finish undoing Richard’s pants. He set about it quickly and did only what was necessary to give him space to pull out Richard’s now hardened cock. He bowed his head and drew it into his mouth, taking his time sinking down its length slowly.

Richard gasped at the initial contact—intimate and heady, it never ceased to amaze him. The physical pleasure of the act was rivaled by the emotional pleasure. To know that Lewis was doing this for him, was using his body to please him in this way, was overwhelming. The knowledge of the feelings behind Lewis’ touch worked him up just as much as the touch itself.

He looked down when he felt Lewis begin to bob his head and was struck by the image. Lewis on his knees, his pupils blown, a flush high in his cheeks, his lips wrapped so lovingly yet indecently around Richard. It was all he could do to not moan at the sight.

Lewis seemed to understand exactly what Richard was feeling and his expression changed, his eyes narrowed indicating that were his mouth not currently occupied, he would be smiling. He continued to bob his head and rubbed his thumbs gently against the curve of Richard’s hips.

Richard restrained himself from thrusting up into Lewis’ mouth, but couldn’t stop himself from reaching a hand down to card through Lewis’ hair. He kept the movement of his fingers tender and soft until Lewis pulled back to focus his tongue on a sensitive spot just under the head of his cock. He gasped and tightened his hand in Lewis’ hair and Lewis responded with a moan that left Richard bracing himself against his chair.

He could feel his end nearing and he stuttered out a warning, “Lew…”

Lewis redoubled his efforts in response and took care to swallow when Richard spilled into his mouth with a loud moan. He pulled off and grinned up at Richard, his lips reddened and swollen.

Richard cupped Lewis’ face gently between his hands and pulled him up for a kiss. Though he was still out of breath, he kept the kiss slow and panted breaths whenever their lips parted. He could taste himself in Lewis’ mouth and there was a taboo thrill that ran through him at that fact. He felt Lewis slide into his lap and brought his arms down from Lewis’ face to his waist.

Lewis settled straddling him and rocked forward with a gasp as his own cock came into contact with Richard’s stomach. Richard encouraged the movement with hands on Lewis’ hips, pulling him closer and helping Lewis set a pace grinding against him. He could feel the tension in Lewis’ body as pleasure coursed through his veins.

“Hold on, let me…” Richard gestured to Lewis’ pants, indicating he wanted to undo them.

Lewis held still, though he was trembling slightly in anticipation. Richard cupped him through his pants briefly, just to make him squirm for a moment, then undid them with efficiency. He kept one hand against the small of Lewis’ back as he used the other to stroke his cock.

Lewis rocked into his hand the moment Richard had him in his grasp. He shuddered and thrust, on edge and unable to contain himself. He looked down to watch as Dick touched him, his fist twisting up and down his shaft.

“Fuck… oh fuck, Dick…” Lewis repeated under his breath like a mantra. He could feel himself nearing the edge and as he continued to mumble praise and profanity, Richard leaned in to capture his lips in a kiss.

Lewis kissed back eagerly until he broke away to quickly declare, “I want you inside me later.”

Richard nodded, wide-eyed and blushing at Lewis’ frank request. He started to pay particular attention on the upstroke, working his thumb where Lewis was most sensitive and tightening his fist on the way down. He could tell when Lewis was about to come by the way he moaned and his hips gave one last desperate thrust. He carefully cupped his hand over the tip of Lewis’ cock to ensure there wouldn’t be a mess over his coat. He did have to leave later that evening and he didn’t want to deal with hiding any incriminating stains.

Lewis was flushed and panting on Dick’s lap and watched as Dick moved his hand aside and reached for something to wipe it with.

After taking a few moments to collect himself, he climbed off Richard’s lap and redid his pants so they wouldn’t fall, but didn’t bother to straighten his clothing. Richard took the opportunity to remove his jacket, which had become rather stifling. He set it aside carefully and watched as Lewis poured himself another drink.

“Do you think it will come to war?” Lewis asked, taking a sip of his drink and watching Richard.

The elated mood of their coupling ended with that question and Richard thought back to the tense council meeting. He sighed, “It seems so.”

“I don’t know if we can win given the state of things.”

Richard sat up straighter. “The Guard is fully—”

“It isn’t a criticism of the Guard or your handling of them,” Lewis interrupted, “You’ve done incredibly with them and I know the Guard is well trained and loyal. But the people… if they don’t stand behind the crown, why would they be motivated to send their children to war?”

Richard settled and frowned. “For safety. For the sake of our kingdom.”

“Perhaps.” Lewis hummed and took another sip. “But they might revolt before it comes to that and wage the war themselves. If things don’t change soon I fear a coup is on the horizon before any enemy troops reach our borders.”

Richard sighed again. “I know,” he said. He was reluctant to admit it, but he knew it was the truth and it had to be faced in order to address the situation at hand.

“My father is blind—” Lewis paused for a moment, then continued, “No, not blind. That’s the worst part. He sees it. I know he must see it. But he’s too fucking prideful to admit it. And of course nothing I can ever say can convince him. And his pet advisors!” Lewis scoffed. “Corrupt and vile. But of course they still hold the power.”

“We’ve made strides. Harry has gotten more vocal about using the weight of his family legacy to push for the changes we want.”

“Sure, but father still doesn’t trust me or any of you. Except perhaps Lipton.”

“Lipton is very trustworthy.”

Lewis hummed in agreement. “At least we have him. But still, we’re in the minority on the council even if our men are good. I’d say we wait it out, but we’re too close to the edge of disaster. I suppose we pray to the God of Death that age takes them swiftly.”

Though a more morbid suggestion that Richard was fully comfortable with, he understood Lewis’ feelings. He too wished for change, the sooner the better. He was bitter at the mishandling of power he saw every day in council meetings and it was all he could do to stay silent in the face of such injustices. He did his best to handle the Guard in a manner that stayed true to his values and to suggest better and more moral strategies every time his opinion was asked for.

They lapsed into silence as they both reflected on the state of things. Lewis finished his drink and busied himself pouring another, then walked across the room to look out the glass door of his balcony. He stood silently, watching the sun set over the gardens of the palace.

Richard watched him for a while before he stood and decided to make himself more comfortable in Lewis’ bed. He kept the silence until it began to feel too heavy and he yearned for relief from it. He looked over to see Lewis still standing at the balcony door, his silhouette framed by the setting sun through the glass.

“Come to bed.”

Lewis turned to face Richard who had stripped himself bare and gotten settled in Lewis’ bed. He gestured for Lewis to join him and said, “I can’t stay all night.”

“I wish you could,” Lewis replied with a sigh, stripping his clothes as he made his way to the bed. He let them drop and lie on the floor as he removed them.

“I do too,” Richard said, watching as more and more of Lewis’ body was revealed to him.

Lewis reached the bed fully nude and climbed in, moving close to lie against Richard. “If I had my way I’d marry you and we’d share our bed every night.”

Richard smiled sadly at him. “I wish it were so.”

“Why couldn’t you be a well-connected prince whose attachment to me would bring political gain?” Lewis asked, attempting a joke, but unable to remove the hint sad sincerity from his voice.

Richard had no answer, but he wanted to please Lewis and have an enjoyable time before he had to leave. Conversations about their affair and futile wishes that they could be openly together would only serve to bring sadness to the evening. Richard thought for a moment before he settled on something he was sure would boost both their moods. He smiled and reached out to stroke his hand along Lewis’ side.

“Didn’t you say you wanted me inside you?”

Lewis paused, then grinned and drew Richard closer to him. “I did.”


	2. Another Wayward Son Waiting on Oblivion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With tensions rising, no one is able to escape what’s to come, especially not a hungover Lewis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading chapter one! Some real life stuff has been kicking my ass so this is going up later than intended… oops.
> 
> I had planned to refer to everyone by their full first names for consistency, but then I remembered I cannot write Speirs only referring to him as “Ronald” tbh. I just can’t? And some of them I struggle with the first name like what the fuck are you talking about Lynn your name is BUCK thanks! So uh… gonna have to switch the names up a bit for my own sake lmao.
> 
> In exciting news, guess who finally figured out how to add links on ao3! That’s right it’s me! So in light of that, here’s a direct link to the song "Drunken Whaler" for your enjoyment. Also my tumblr dyrimthespeaker.
> 
> Thanks to weenies for betaing!
> 
> Title from Anaïs Mitchell - “Young Man in America”
> 
> 5 minute after initial posting update: GUESS WHO STILL DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO LINK THINGS AND CAN'T FIGURE OUT WHAT SHE'S DOING WRONG

Eugene Roe stood in his dispensary, looking through his vials and jars for milk thistle. As the Royal Apothecary it was his duty to see to the medical needs of those living in the palace and today, like many other days, Prince Lewis was in need of a hangover cure.

Roe found the milk thistle and added it to a tea bag already filled with ginger, peppermint, and a few other herbs. As he steeped the tea, he took a piece of paper and drew a sigil for the easement of pain and settling the stomach. He said a prayer to the God of Healing and burned the sigil, careful to collect the ashes in a small dish so he could mix them with water to make a paste to be applied to the temples of the patient. When the tea was ready he set it on a silver tray with a cup of seltzer, aspirin tablets, and the magic imbued paste.

As a man of medicine he lived a life balancing science, religion, and magic. It was only through the combination of the three that true healing could come. If the Gods didn't bless your cure it didn't matter how many herbs and pills you used, you wouldn’t find any lasting treatment. Science had come a long way with the inventions of newer and better medicines and medical practices, but all of them were based in tradition and had at their roots the old knowledge of cures that had been passed down for generations.

Though religion was an important component to his job—without sigils and blessings he wouldn’t be a very good apothecary—Roe wasn’t a religious figure himself. He attended services and regularly prayed to the Gods, but given his role he was most familiar with the rituals surrounding the God of Life, the God of Death, and the God of Healing. He had to know how to welcome a newborn into the world as well as how to ease a man from life into death. He had to know how to tend to the sick and the wounded. His duties occasionally took him to the temple, but most often he tended to his patients in their own rooms in the palace.

He came from a line of apothecaries, his grandmother had been famously talented at it and was said to have been personally blessed by the God of Healing. He strove to follow in her footsteps and do his best to live up to her legacy. It was a hard job, and sometimes he questioned his position as the Royal Apothecary as it meant he wasn’t using his knowledge to help the masses, but he hoped he was doing what the Gods deemed best.

The temptation did exist at times to give up his position and join his friend Renée where she worked tending to those in Docker’s Ward, one of the poorest neighborhoods in the city. He greatly admired her strength and her determination to use everything she had as an apothecary to help those most vulnerable. He knew she didn’t begrudge him his position as Royal Apothecary, and he knew it was a necessary position to have occupied, for sickness came to all, no matter your status. But still, he sometimes wondered if he would be better suited elsewhere.

He did what he could when he could, when he had the time he would volunteer with Renée. When he wasn’t helping her, he spent his evenings off at Wild Bill’s Tavern where his friends often met and where his beau Babe worked. He tried his best to not get too caught up in the moral questions of who deserved what. But still, it was hard at times to know that the king he was giving his life to heal was the very man who allowed the continuation of the conditions that gave Renée all the work she had.

He’d expressed some of these thoughts to Babe and Renée before and both of them were understanding of his qualms, but ultimately supportive of him remaining in his post, though for different reasons. Babe seemed rather astonished by Eugene’s medical skills, he was quite accident-prone himself—though, in Roe’s opinion, some of it was also the work of the very avoidable and reckless situations Babe got himself into with his friends—and he was always touched and grateful for Roe’s help in patching him up. He supported Roe’s position as, in his opinion, one of the greatest apothecaries of the land. After all, he’d argued, would the royal family have anything but the best?

Renée’s opinion was based more in moral dealings. She knew of Roe’s dedication to following the path laid out by the Gods and when he questioned his station she’d ask him questions of faith and morals. She was good at keeping her own stance out of the equation and instead pressing Roe to consider his feelings on the matter, uninfluenced by the beliefs she lived her life by. They were hard conversations, but Roe knew they were what he needed to see his situation clearly. So long as he felt he was following his path and he had done nothing to corrupt his morals, he knew he was serving himself well.

He glanced over the tray once more to ensure all components of a hangover cure were present, then he picked it up and made his way to Prince Lewis’ chambers.

Everyone made way for him as he walked through the halls. He was not noble, but he was greatly admired. Even the members of the nobility treated him with utmost respect as they knew their own fate could one day lie in his hands.

The guard outside the Prince’s chambers nodded at him upon his arrival. He opened the door and allowed Roe to pass through.

The first room, which contained a couch and desk as well as a few assorted chairs, was in its usual state. The seating area fairly orderly, the desk a mess of maps and notes, and the bar by the side of the room well stocked despite the state of chaos it was undoubtedly in the night before.

Roe walked to the door to the Prince’s bedroom and knocked. A wordless groan came in response and he took this to mean entrance was permitted.

It took Roe’s eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting of the bedroom. The rich curtains were drawn over the windows and they hung heavy, cloaking the room in shadow. The only light came from a lamp across the room from the bed. A bed which Lewis was currently occupying in a rather undignified state. He was half-dressed and lying on his back over top of the covers with an arm slung over his eyes. His feet were dangling off the edge of the bed and his boots were on, though they weren’t fastened.

“Your Highness?” Roe asked, speaking clearly, but softly. He didn’t want to exacerbate the situation, though unlike with Stanhope, he felt no need to fear for his own person on approaching Lewis. No matter how indisposed, Lewis never lashed out in anger against other people. His rages, when they occurred, always ended in harm befalling inanimate objects. Even those were more the result of him lacking care for his surroundings when frustrated, rather than orchestrated acts of violence.

Lewis groaned and sat up slowly. “Roe?” He squinted at him, then raised a hand to wave Roe over.

Roe went and set the tray on the bedside table. “Drink this and take these.” He offered Lewis the seltzer and the aspirin.

Lewis did as he was bade, though not without a scowl at the idea of drinking anything at all. Roe took the glass back from him as soon as he’d finished. “Now sit up more, if you would?”

Lewis, knowing the routine well, scooted to the end of the bed and tilted his head back slightly. His eyes were closed so he could focus on relaxing the furrow of his brow. Roe picked up the magic imbued paste and carefully applied it to Lewis’ temples while reciting words of prayer and asking for the God of Healing to have mercy and relieve the pain and the nausea.

When he was done praying, Roe stood up straight and wiped his fingers off on a rag he had with him. “Now let the paste sit for a while and—”

“Drink the tea slowly,” Lewis finished for him, offering a wry smile.

Roe nodded. “Send for me if you need further attention, Your Highness.”

“Thank you.” Lewis picked up the mug and took his first careful sip.

Roe gathered up everything except the mug and carried it back out. He left Lewis perched on the edge of his bed, cradling the mug. 

He hoped his efforts had worked and Lewis would get relief soon. Though he wasn’t one to speak out much, he knew for a fact that between the Prince and the King, he’d much prefer the Prince be the one lucid enough to make decisions at council meetings.

* * *

 

Another stack of letters sat upon his desk along with a list of those who had correspondence they needed him to see to. George Luz, Master of Messages, entrusted with all correspondence in and out of the palace, found himself organizing his letter delivery errands in order of importance and then in order of most to least annoying to deal with.

He knew he had to deal with the royal family first, then Royal Advisors with business of vital importance, but after that it was at his own discretion what order he went about his day. He preferred to deal with the most irritating people first so he could get it over with and then improve his day with his more pleasant errands.

Some of his more difficult interactions were with people who seemed to think he had personally wronged them if he brought them news they didn’t like. But he was, after all, just the messenger. It practically said it in his title. Proverbially shooting the messenger was more popular with a few of the more temperamental residents of the palace than he would have liked.

Still, he did enjoy his job for the most part and he certainly made enough money doing it to make any uncalled for yelling more than worth it. His life could be a hell of a lot worse. He wasn’t a noble and while he wasn’t from an impoverished family, they were still common folk and George had enough siblings that money wasn’t something he’d ever had in abundance.

As an adult in a position of importance in the palace he found himself with more of it than he’d ever had before and he made sure to balance sending some home to help with his younger siblings along with keeping enough to have a very good time when he wasn’t attending to his duties.

He had a good group of friends and was known to buy a round or two for everyone down at their favorite tavern. He was also in the habit of playing rather elaborate pranks on and with those same friends and a good number of said pranks cost a fair amount. Still, the memories had certainly been worth the money in his opinion.

George finalized his list and gathered up the letters he had to deliver. First, as always, were letters for the King. He hoped to get that over with quickly and in all honestly he hoped the King was out or otherwise indisposed so he could get it over with quickly.

Luck was in his favor as when he arrived the King was busy enough that he was able to deliver the letters with minimal interaction. Stanhope was deep in conversation with some of his closest advisors. George was permitted to enter only the first room of the King’s chambers and leave the letters there for him to address later.

He set them on the ornamental plate designated for them. The plate sat on a large wooden desk by the fireplace. Many ornaments and trophies were displayed along the room. It was well known these objects came to the King as tokens of treaties and signs of the affection of different lords. It was also speculated that a good many of them were bribes.

George glanced at an ornate jewel encrusted dagger on the mantle of the fireplace and wondered how much it would be worth if sold. Were objects of such high value even worth anything in actual money? Or were they so rich that they surpassed an individual’s ability to place a number on their value?

Regardless, George was sure he knew a good number of men who’d be willing to put a price to it, whether that price reflected the true value or not. And that number would surely be high enough to not only alleviate his own family’s money worries, but also those of his friends and their families.

It was a nice dream, especially giving how much things had escalated in the last few decades. The rich getting richer, the poor getting poorer. George was grateful for his own situation, especially being friends with men like Joseph Liebgott and knowing from them how much worse it could get.

He looked at his stack of letters once more to ensure he had left all those meant for the King on the desk and wouldn’t have to return later with a mistakenly withheld letter. Satisfied he had done everything he needed to, he left the room and walked away from the King’s chambers quickly. He was glad to have that errand over with and hoped further correspondence would be slow to arrive. He made his way towards the rest of the royal family’s apartments to deliver their letters. As he walked down one of the halls he caught sight of Princess Blanche turning the corner.

She was, as always, in a fashionable dress. Layers of lace over silk and fine detailing on the bodice. Her long dark hair was woven up in an intricate bun and she had pearl earrings to match her necklace. 

He remembered he had something for her in his stack and ran after her, calling out, “Your Highness! I have a letter for you!” He brandished it high for her to see.

She came to a stop and looked rather amused. “Thank you, Luz.”

He bowed elaborately. “Bring me your reply, if you have one, any time, Your Highness.”

She laughed and thanked him again, taking the letter then parting ways with George. He continued down the hall towards the Royal Advisors rooms and she turned back towards the royal apartments.

Her curiosity got the best of her and instead of waiting to get back to her chambers and use a letter opener to properly unseal it, she ripped into the envelope and began to read. She scanned the first few lines quickly and began to frown. Her pace slowed and her frown deepened the more she read and instead of turning to her own room she came to a stop in the middle of the hall.

By the time she reached the end of the letter her good humor had faded. She began walking again, but passed her room and continued down towards her brother’s chambers. The guard permitted her entrance and she strode directly to the bedroom.

Blanche didn’t bother knocking and instead threw the door to Lewis’ bedroom open with a bang.

“Can you believe this?” she huffed, waving the letter in her hand, “It’s another letter inquiring after my marital status!”

Lewis was in better shape than Roe had left him in, but still quite obviously suffering. His shirt was half-buttoned and his vest and jacket had yet to be fetched, but he had managed to finish fastening his boots. He groaned and clutched his head. “Oh the woes of a beautiful young unattached maid.”

“Just wait until it’s you fending off betrothals.” Blanche crossed the room and opened the curtains to the balcony, then sat at the table by the balcony doors.

Lewis snorted, “I believe father knows better than to attempt another betrothal for me.”

“Well perhaps I should throw a fit like you and he’ll stop trying to ship me off to every eligible prince whose money catches his eye.” She picked up a decanter off the table and poured herself a drink.

“I didn’t throw a fit!”

Blanche hummed, unimpressed.

“I didn’t!” Lewis insisted, “I just made it clear there was not going to be a wedding!”

She placed the stopper back in the decanter and took a sip, then looked him up and down. “You look like hell.”

Lewis huffed a laugh, “Thank you. You look lovely.”

“I know,” she replied airily. She ran a finger down the pearls of her necklace and held her glass aloft with her other hand.

Lewis didn’t snark further and instead opted to focus on continuing to try to get himself presentable before he had to attend to the business of the day. Blanche sipped her drink and stared out the glass of the balcony door as he made his way around the room slowly.

The silence had given Blanche time to further consider the marriage proposal and the pressure she lived with from her father to wed someone he deemed appropriate, regardless of her feelings. She knew her brother’s feelings towards his own hypothetical arranged marriage, and of course his exceedingly negative ones to his almost-wedding.

By the time she looked at Lewis again he had his vest on, all but the top buttons of his shirt done and his jacket was in hand. His hair wasn’t exactly tame, but it was in a far better state than the bedhead he’d awoken with.

“If you were king you wouldn’t force me to marry someone, would you?” she asked, her tone quiet and contemplative.

“Of course not,” he answered immediately, “If I were king you could marry whoever the hell you wanted.”

“But the political gain—”

Lewis cut her off firmly, “There are other ways. Treaties and such.”

She looked as if she wanted to say something in response, but thought better of it and nodded. “Thank you,” she said after a moment.

He nodded.

She decided against pressing the matter further, grateful for his support and unwilling to pressure him to delve deeper into why he was so sensitive about marriage. She was fully aware he had a lover, though for his own sake she had never tried to get him to confirm their identity. She had her suspicions and was confident she was right, but she had no desire to find out for sure.

Lewis’ life was complicated enough and he lived with enough pressure that she felt he should be allowed to keep that intimate detail to himself. She knew if she had a lover she would wish for privacy too.

The melancholy of the topic was starting to get to her and she decided it was high time to return to something lighter in tone. She wasn’t above needling him for his flaws, though she did have certain topics she wouldn’t push far, marriage and lovers being one of them. His drinking and general disarray on the other hand was, in her opinion, a fully permissible topic for her teasing.

“Aren’t you supposed to be attending a council meeting?” she asked, tilting her head skeptically.

“I’m on my way.”

“Are you?” She raised her eyebrow at his state of dishevelment.

“Yes I am. Or, I was until you came busting in here to complain about hypothetical marriages.” He waved his hand in her direction.

She set her glass down and smiled. “Lewis, you still have ash paste on your temples.”

He grabbed a cloth and dipped it in water, then quickly ran it over his face. He opened his arms as if to present himself to her. “There, ready.”

“Uh-huh,” Blanche hummed and stood, “Well, I’m off to meet Kitty. Have fun with father.”

As she walked towards the door Lewis laughed, though there was a bitter edge to it. “Don’t I always?”

She decided to let that lie with no response and left his chambers. She had the letter still in hand and made sure not to crumple it no matter how tempting the idea of balling it up and never looking at it again was. She planned to set it under a stack of books and ‘forget’ about it for the time being. Instead she would spend the afternoon with Kitty Welsh and the two of them would have a grand time and if marriage was to be discussed it would be Kitty’s own happy one and nothing else.

* * *

 

A map of Docker’s Ward lay in the center of the table. Surrounding it were diagrams and scribbled lists of figures along with a few circled names of importance. Around the table sat the King, the Crown Prince, and all of the Royal Advisors.

The King sat at the head of the table, his Regent by his side. He drank deeply from a cup that had been filled multiple times already and listened as the members of the council argued back and forth about how best to address the latest incident in the growing trend of unrest in the kingdom.

Docker’s Ward, one of the poorest neighborhoods in the city had been the site of increasingly blatant calls for change. Rabble-rousers with too much time on their hands in Stanhope’s opinion. Poor men who, if they truly wished to change their station, should spend more time working and less time organizing meetings where they complained about their lives and tried to pin all of their ills on their king.

Still, it was an increasingly dangerous situation that threatened the safety and power of the King and that was impermissible. Though nothing concrete had yet happened, the council feared that it was only a matter of time before the talk turned to action. It was clear that something had to be done, but what that was had yet to be agreed upon.

The King was of the opinion that they should do whatever necessary to disband the more revolutionary groups and forcefully suppress any idea of rebellion. If it came to violence well, that was just the cost of running a kingdom.

The situation was made more dire by the fact that it was not the only threat facing the kingdom. In addition to the inner turmoil there was also danger from the outside. A neighboring kingdom had been gearing up for some time for a potential war. Diplomatic strategies had thus far failed and Stanhope had yet to forge a treaty that lasted for more than a few years without contest.

Which brought him back to the matter currently at hand. The importance of stopping any attempt at a revolution and forcing the loyalty of his subjects in order to prepare to fight. He needed citizens to call on who would be willing to fight should all diplomatic attempts fail and war become inevitable.

How exactly to quell the rising tensions and get the populace in such a state was a matter up for debate. The differences in opinion fell along the same lines as always.

There was a distinct divide on the council, on one side were the King and his loyal advisors and on the other were the Prince and his. Despite the fact that Prince did not technically have his own advisors and all advisors were supposed to be present for the King, it was obvious there were some who didn’t ally themselves that way, though they would never admit that if asked.

Lord Harry Welsh, Lord Ronald Speirs, Lord Commander Richard Winters, and Commander Carwood Lipton were the core group of advisors who aligned themselves with the Prince, though always in opinion rather than outright statements of personal alliance. The latter two were of particular vexation to the King. Lord Welsh and Lord Speirs were valuable, but their friendship and agreements with his son were nowhere near the bane that those of the Commander and the Lord Commander were.

Commander Lipton was the head of the entire Royal Guard including the Sentinel, an elite unit of the Royal Guard tasked with protecting the royal family themselves. The Sentinel were the best and most trusted of any soldiers and they were often given positions training new soldiers in both the Guard and the Royal Guard. Lipton had been one of the most elite of the Sentinel before his promotion to Commander. The King held him in high regard as a loyal, duty-driven, and intelligent soldier as well as advisor.

The Lord Commander on the other hand, the King held in slightly less esteem. Though an undoubtedly brilliant tactician and military man, his fondness for the Crown Prince was a weakness. On the surface one would never think the two would be as close as they were, but somehow they had overcome their differences and forged an exceptional friendship. A friendship which Stanhope was sure clouded the Lord Commander’s judgement. He was practically in the Prince’s pocket, yet was brilliant enough that the King had no true cause to justify a demotion.

It was those two whose arguments against him he felt most angered by, especially when the issue on the table was of a military nature. Stanhope wanted to have the Guard put any rebellion down and remind the people exactly who held the throne.

He had argued his opinion and made it clear where he stood. He sat back and sipped his drink, allowing his trusted advisors to continue arguing his perspective. It went back and forth between arguments for a peaceful alternative and ideas for how to quash all hope amongst the people of there being even a chance that an uprising could accomplish anything.

Harry was in the midst of an impassioned proposal for some sort of town hall meeting, when Stanhope’s eye was drawn by his son. Lewis had been vocal with his opinion, though not as vocal as usual. He was slightly disheveled, though not horribly. He had obviously put some amount of effort into cleaning himself up. What was strikingly obvious was the tea he drank. He had called for more during the course of the meeting and Roe had delivered a full pot so he could drink as much as he pleased. There was no question what kind of tea he was drinking.

The King spoke, interrupting the conversation taking place and calling all attention to himself, “Perhaps if my son could find it in himself to behave in such a way that he was fit to conduct business we would be able to move our agenda along more efficiently.”

The very air in the room seemed to freeze as every inhabitant paused and waited silently to witness the fallout of the King’s statement.

A slow humorless smirk rolled across Lewis’ face. He set his mug down and sat up straighter.

“Perhaps if my father could refrain from actively working himself into a state of incompetent inebriation during the course of meetings we could accomplish more.”

He raised his mug in a mockery of cheers to his father and took another sip.

The King’s face turned red and he scowled. He went to take a sip from his drink, but at the last moment seemed to think better of it and stopped himself. The fact that he considered his son’s words and they had enough of an effect to alter his behavior seemed to infuriate him further.

Sensing the situation was a powderkeg about to explode, Lipton quickly spoke up, “Regardless of our differences of opinion, we must reach an agreement on how to handle this. We have to settle our internal affairs so we can look forward to prepare ourselves for war.”

For a moment it seemed that Lipton’s interjection would be enough to settle the room, but then the King’s eyes scanned over Lewis again and he caught sight of a trace of ash paste at the hairline of Lewis’ temples.

He scoffed, “You weren’t even able to wash away the remnants of the cure for your habits before attending this meeting?”

“At least I took a cure. And your tone is rather hypocritical, isn’t it? I believe we all know where I learned my habits.” Lewis was smirking and watching carefully to see how his rebuttals landed.

Lipton looked as though he wished to speak again, but he hesitated. He exchanged a quick look with Richard, who cleared his throat. He spoke coolly, though still politely, “Your Majesty, Your Highness, we must reach an agreement for how we’re going to handle the rising tensions in Docker’s Ward. If we don't I fear it will come to a conflict and perhaps even violence.”

Lewis’ smirk dropped. He looked faintly chastised at Richard’s entreaty and settled back with a nod.

Stanhope snorted, “If they want to behave as animals and lash out, let them. Our Guard is strong enough to put them down.”

Richard’s eyes burned at the callous way the King referred to his people, but he bit his tongue and refrained from commenting further. He looked over at Speirs who seemed just as angered, though more visibly so. Speirs’ nose flared for a moment before he took a breath and settled, glaring at the King silently.

The uneasy silence stretched on for a few moments before Lipton tried again, “Perhaps if there were a way to talk more directly to those most upset by the—”

“Do you have enough men in the Guard to quell a situation?” the King interrupted, turning to look at Richard.

“Your Majesty?”

“Lord Commander,” there was an almost patronizing hint to his words, “if the people decide to attempt some sort of foolish violence in Docker’s Ward, do you or do you not have enough men in the Guard to put a stop to it?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Richard replied, his tone clipped.

“Very well. See to it that were a situation to arise you would have your men handle it.” The King stood and his closest advisors stood with him and followed him as he made his way out of the council room.

Those left sat in silence for a moment.

It was broken by the screech of a chair dragging across the floor as Richard stood abruptly and strode from the room with determination, a frown on his face that was as close to a scowl as he ever got.

Lewis watched him go and hastily gathered his things before following Richard’s path out of the room.

Harry sighed and looked at Speirs and Lipton. “Meeting adjourned I suppose.”

“So it seems,” Lipton said.

Harry stood and stretched. “Well I’m off to find Kitty, I’m taking her out tonight.” He grinned.

Lipton smiled back. “Good, I hope you have a lovely evening.”

“Oh I’m sure we will,” Harry replied before leaving the room as well.

As soon as Harry departed, Lipton’s smile fell and his frown returned. He looked over at Speirs who was poring over the map of Docker’s Ward. He cut an imposing figure dressed all in black, his clothes sharply tailored, but lacking in ornament. He had both a pistol and a dagger on his person and it was rumored he even slept with them.

Lipton sighed before speaking, “That was a disaster. It's hard enough to get anything done given the state of things, but if they continue to fight like that...” he sighed again and shook his head.

Speirs nodded in agreement. “It doesn’t bode well.”

“No it doesn’t.” Lipton slumped slightly in his seat. Not forgetting himself entirely, but comfortable enough alone with Speirs to not mind his posture quite so strictly.

Speirs looked up from the map. “You and Welsh favor a town hall.”

Lipton nodded. “We do.”

“Do you think the people would be willing to listen?”

“Probably not,” Lipton replied, “Not unless there was an actual indication of change.”

Speirs considered this and nodded solemnly. “Get your men prepared. Any indication of change is unlikely to occur.”

“I’m meeting with the Sentinel tomorrow to inform them of the King’s decision.” Lipton frowned, thinking of what he would say to his men and hating what he knew he had to ask of them.

“They’re good men,” Speirs said, interrupting Lipton’s train of thought, “They’ll follow your every order.”

“I know.” Lipton was very proud of his men and never hesitated to give them the praise he felt they deserved. He was glad to hear Speirs shared his opinion of them. “But I wish I didn’t have to order them to do this. Some of them have family in Docker’s Ward and I wouldn’t be surprised to find a number of them amongst those who’ve been calling for change.”

“You’re a good Commander, Lipton.”

Lipton looked at him with a small frown. “I don’t know that I feel I am.”

“You know your men. You listen to them. They’ll be loyal to you even if they don’t feel loyal to the crown. And given the state the crown is in...” Speirs paused. His every word had been said with weight and purpose, as though he was trying to fill them with meaning beyond their individual definitions. “It’s impressive,” he finished, fixing Lipton with a look that was as earnest as it was cryptic.

Lipton ducked his head slightly at the praise.

Speirs watched him for a moment before looking back down at the map.

“I feel you must have an idea of how to handle things,” Lipton spoke as soon as the hot flush of flattery from Speirs’ compliment left him.

Speirs gave him an enigmatic smile. “Perhaps. But I don’t hold a position like yours. I’ll do as I can where I can and you’ll do your duty to the best of your ability.”

“You support the town hall idea though?”

“I do. Though I don’t believe it would be enough even if the King were to allow it. As you said, the people would need to see convincing evidence of change before they’d be ready to settle.”

Lipton nodded. “Though it’s all for naught. The King has decided his preferred course of action and we must obey orders, regardless of our opinions.”

Speirs’ gaze flickered over the map again. “I suppose we must.”

* * *

 

The meeting left Richard feeling infuriated, but also directionless. Silenced by an authority he disagreed with, but having no power to make vocal his disagreement, he found himself without recourse. He did what he could and his relationship with the Prince helped, but ultimately they were all still under the King’s rule.

Richard did his best to run the guard with justice and mercy, giving orders he felt moral and never asking any of his men to do anything he himself wouldn’t. But at times the things that were asked of him were near unconscionable. The command to “put down” the tensions in Docker’s Ward should they come to a head was one Richard fundamentally disagreed with and was struggling to accept.

He knew if it came to violence he would have to act as the King ordered, but he had hoped that there would be an option that relied more on negotiations. The people felt unheard and until their pain was addressed there would be no peace. Violent suppression would only serve to send the anger of the people deep, fertilizing the seeds of mutiny already sewn.

Seeing no hope of an alternative plan for the time being he decided to turn his attention away from his frustration and instead read a letter that had been delivered earlier in the day by Luz that he hadn’t had the chance to read before the council meeting. It was from his sister and he was always eager to hear from her and kept up steady correspondence. He had just finished reading it and was beginning to formulate his reply when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he called out.

Lewis popped his head in. “Had enough time to cool off?” Though Lewis had followed Richard out of the council room after the disastrous meeting, he had felt Richard needed some time to himself and had opted to give him a little space before joining him.

“Yes,” Richard answered, relaxing when he saw Lewis and realized it wasn’t news of further business to deal with.

Lewis shut the door behind him and sauntered across the room, coming to a stop by Richard’s desk and leaning against the wall. “What’s that?”

“A letter from my sister.”

“How is she?”

“She’s well,” Richard said, “Crops are coming in well and she says the dog just had puppies.”

Lewis nodded. “And her wife?”

“Frances has taken to embroidering all their clothes apparently. Ann says it makes her feel like a true Lady.”

“You’d think the new title and increase in land ownership would have already made her feel like a Lady,” Lewis said. He pushed off of the wall and set his jacket down, busying himself getting more comfortable.

Richard smiled. “She’s still a simple Winters at heart even with our family’s rise in status.”

“As are you.”

Richard hummed in agreement and looked back down at the letter.

His promotion to Lord Commander had come with a rise in status for his whole family. His sister was now Lady Ann Winters, and his family’s land had more than tripled in size. Ann and her wife Frances were happily living on the Winters family land slowly making improvements to the house and expanding their crops and livestock. Frances was particularly fond of sheep and had insisted they look into wool manufacturing and Ann was determined to seek more laborers amongst the locals and do her best to turn her family’s good fortune into a good thing for everyone in the area.

“I still cannot understand how she’s content to live her life out in the country like that,” Lewis spoke, interrupting Richard’s musing.

Richard smiled indulgently at the statement and looked up from the letter. He found that in the time he'd spent looking at it to begin formulating his response, Lewis had managed to drape himself across the bed and was busy popping bonbons in his mouth.

“You're too accustomed to luxury,” Richard said, teasing fondly. He was of the opinion that Lewis’ distaste for country living was a direct result of his rather spoiled upbringing. Richard loved him anyway, somewhat spoiled or not.

Lewis hummed in vague agreement and sucked smudges of chocolate from his fingertips. Richard smiled at the sight and decided to write his reply to his sister later and instead focus on Lewis while they had time to themselves. He savored every moment they had alone, especially as of late. The next day would give him time to write his letter and he was sure he would have plenty of other things he would have to do as well, for now he just wanted to focus on the chance at respite.

He stood and walked to the bed where Lewis lay waiting, lip smudged with chocolate, painting the very picture of decadent temptation. Richard was only too pleased to succumb to the offering.


End file.
